


save the last dance

by LadyMerlin



Series: RoyEd Week 2019 [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Don't copy to another site, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, RoyEd Week 2019, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-07-25 23:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: Mustang stands up and Ed’s heart falls. Of course, he should have known; who’d want a partnership with him, romantic or platonic? He’s a walking disaster, he can’t even blame Mustang. He looks down at his lap so he doesn’t have to watch Mustang walk away.





	save the last dance

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for RoyEd Week 2019 Day 3, a fusion of the prompts "May I have this dance?" and "Fantasy AU". 
> 
> As always, this has not been beta-read. The title comes from the Michael Buble song, ngl. Brace yourself for sap.

The room is stifling. 

Or maybe it’s his outfit; an instrument of torture made of yards and yards of starched wool and shaped up into a pointy collar so high that it’s jabbing into his throat. 

Either way, Ed feels like he’s being choked to death, surrounded by too many people wearing too much perfume. It’s too hot, and he desperately wants to unbutton the front of his jacket but he’s been warned against it on the pain of death. The food is bland and the wine is sour; facts which he can appreciate even though he’s neither hungry nor thirsty. There’s so many fucking random people congratulating him around every corner - these people shouldn’t even have made it onto the guest list - who _ are _ they? It’s supposed to be _ his _ engagement party but it doesn’t feel like a celebration.

Someone should be playing a funeral dirge or something, a lament for the death of his freedom and his youth. He supposes it’s a good thing the party planning hadn’t been left to him, in the end. 

Still, he knows this wedding is necessary. He has to go through with it, even though there’s a churning roiling mess in his stomach that tastes like fear in the back of his throat, and his hands are freezing inside his elegant white gloves. 

Marrying Amestrian nobility is the only way to save his house; to save his brother and Winry and Granny Pinako. His last promise to his mother had been that he’d protect Al, and fucking Hohenheim sure isn’t going to. This is him, protecting Al, even though Al would much rather have run away with him. Ed’s the older one. He knows his duty, and he’s not the running type. 

He thinks his Mother would be proud of him. 

He hasn’t met his fiance before. He hasn’t heard much about Roy Mustang either, which is a neutral factor as far as these things go. Generally people gossip about the psychos and the pervs as much as they rave about the heroes and the saints. He’s heard some criticism and some praise, but nothing extreme, which is a good thing. It means Mustang probably isn’t too crazy or too cruel. Maybe he’ll leave Ed alone after he’s taken Ed’s virginity. Knowing his luck is, that’s the best Ed can really hope for. 

Anyway, it’s too late to back out now. The wedding is tomorrow. The money has been spent, the clothes have been picked out, the food has been cooked. There’s nothing left to do except for Ed to go through with it. And he will. He’s not the type to break his word, even when he really, _ really _ wants to. 

Al is somewhere in the corner and he’s talking to Winry and looking concerned, which are two things Al does really well. Ed wants them to be happy; wants them to get married and have babies and live a long and wonderful life together. He’ll do this for them, even if it kills him. 

He sighs and scuffs his shiny shoes against the carpeted ground. Who carpets the floor around a buffet table? The food stains will be _ impossible _ to remove. 

He’s so focused on trying to figure out the interior decorating choices that he startles when someone touches his shoulder. 

The first thing he sees when he spins around are white gloves held up in the traditional gesture of ‘peace’, palms flat and fingers spread. His eyes dart up to see whom the gloves belong to, and he swallows hard when he sees Roy Mustang standing there, looking at him with a cautious smile. “Hi,” he says. 

“Hey,” Ed replies faux-calmly, because if Mustang isn’t going to be eloquent, Ed doesn’t have to be either. 

“Is this seat taken?” Mustang asks, gesturing at the empty chair beside Ed. Ed gestures back as gracefully as he can, because words are honestly beyond him. He was not prepared for this 

“Are we even supposed to be talking?” he asks, suddenly wishing that his speechless state had continued for a while longer, because, _ geeze _ what a stupid fucking question. Someone had already warned him that it was considered bad luck for the fiancés to speak to each other before the wedding. 

He didn’t exactly buy into that sort of mumbo-jumbo, but Al had been very emphatic about being respectful and sensitive of other cultures and beliefs. For all he knows, he’s dooming their marriage to failure before it even begins. _ Boo hoo._

Mustang sits down beside him and shrugs, somehow managing to make the move look elegant instead of oafish. “I don’t think anyone’s paying attention, at this point. Enough wine’s gone out for them to hopefully leave us alone.” 

“It’s a fine time for them to have decided that,” Ed mumbles, words slipping past his lips without any conscious effort. Before he even has the opportunity to panic about it, let alone apologise to Mustang, he laughs under his breath, soft black hair gleaming in the low light of the chandeliers. He’s just really stupidly pretty, and Ed - Ed isn’t expecting that. Why would they have arranged a marriage for someone who would have anyone he wanted?

“Honestly, for such control freaks, the caterers they’ve chosen are shockingly bad,” Mustang murmurs at him, not turning but making it obvious that he’s talking to Ed anyway. 

Ed has to put in real effort to turn away from Mustang and pretend he’s not gawking. “I thought it was just me. Al said I was being mean.” 

Mustang shrugs. “It’s not like we’re going to say it to them, right? I mean, we’re entitled to our opinions, as long as we keep them to ourselves.” 

Now it’s Ed’s turn to laugh. With every sentence that comes out of Mustang’s mouth, he likes the man more and more. “I think the problem is that Al genuinely doesn’t have any mean thoughts. He’s the nice, tall version of me.”

Mustang hums. “Al’s your brother?” Ed nods but Mustang seems to be watching him from the corner of his eye, so he doesn’t have to say anything. “Talking to that blonde girl in the corner?” 

Ed nods again. “That’s Winry. She’s like a sister to me, but she’s dating Al. That’s about the sum of your in-laws, if you were worried. Oh, and Winry’s grandma.” 

“Any jealous exes I need to worry about?” Mustang asks, only partially teasing. Ed isn’t sure how he can tell, but he can. 

He scoffs, giving the question all the respect it’s due. “I think that’s something I should be worried about, more than you. I mean, look at you,” Ed blurts, without entirely intending to. 

Mustang’s fingers tangle in the hem of his own tunic and it takes Ed longer than it should have to realise that the colour rising high in Mustang’s cheeks is a blush, the man is actually _ blushing_. 

“Uh, sorry—” Ed stutters, just in case he’d been unintentionally offensive - but how was _ he _ supposed to have known?! 

Mustang releases his clenched fingers and flaps his hand at Ed, a strangely endearing gesture. “Don’t be. I have a few but, uh. The ones who matter are my friends, now. Everyone else was just political. No hard feelings, you know?” 

Ed really doesn’t, but. “Is it political or personal if I used to date the Emperor of Xing?” 

Mustang turns to stare at him, managing to make even the break in composure look charming. Ed can’t help but flush in embarrassment. “It depends on the breakup? I guess?” 

Ed shrugs and swallows hard. “We were together for like two years,” and here Mustang makes a tiny noise in the base of his throat, like he’s in pain, “but the breakup was mutual. He had obligations to his clanspeople. Children and stuff. And I’m not one to share. We’re still friends?” 

“Oh good,” Mustang says in a slightly strangled voice, “so I don’t have to worry about Xingese assassins climbing through our bedroom window?” 

Ed laughs, because isn’t that just a ridiculous thought. “Not that I’m aware of. Besides, I’m perfectly capable of fighting a few of them off, if you’re worried. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Mustang swallows audibly. “I hope I wouldn’t be entirely useless in the endeavour.” 

A beat passes and they realise at the same time that they’ve painted themselves as sharing a bedroom in this scenario, and it’s all Ed can do to not choke on his own tongue. Mustang doesn’t sound any better. 

They both splutter for a moment and Ed thinks _hard_. 

“Look,” he starts, just as Mustang opens his mouth to speak. They both stop short. “Sorry, you go first.” 

“No, please,” Mustang says, “after you.” He sounds gracious in a way that would have given Ed’s etiquette teacher wet dreams. 

“I know this probably isn’t what you’d planned for yourself. It’s not what I’d planned either. But I - I’m ready to give this a try as friends, if you are.” There really are no words for how awkward this is, or how much Ed wishes the ground would just crack open and swallow him whole. But this is him, trying. 

Mustang clears his throat and turns to look at Ed, to really _ look _ at him, for the first time that evening. His eyes are a watercolour-slate blue, and he looks like the sort of prince Winry had once dreamed of, when they’d been young and no one had ever wanted to get married. Mustang licks his lower lip and Ed finds himself following the pink flicker of tongue, the way it wets his mouth and makes it shine a bit. 

Mustang stands up and Ed’s heart falls. Of course, he should have known; who’d want a partnership with him, romantic or platonic? He’s a walking disaster, he can’t even blame Mustang. He looks down at his lap so he doesn’t have to watch Mustang walk away. 

A white gloved hand interrupts his line of vision. He looks up, startled. Mustang is still standing there, a bright smile painted across his lips, a sparkle in his eyes, one hand neatly folded behind his back. He bows slightly when Ed meets his eyes. 

“Mr Elric, may I have this dance?” 

Ed knows the proper answer to a formal invitation like this, it’s been drilled into his head a hundred times before. He knows how he’s supposed to stand, and what he’s supposed to say, and exactly how he’s supposed to take Mustang’s hand. 

He does none of it, getting to his feet quickly instead of gracefully. He puts his hand in Mustang’s with absolutely no elegance, curving his fingers like they’re already intimate, rather than strangers who have only been speaking for half an hour at most. “Call me Ed, please.” 

Mustang doesn’t criticise his technique or his posture or the way Ed’s fingers are probably too tight around his hand. Instead he turns his hand until their palms are pressed together and their fingers are laced and squeezes, leading Ed to the center of the dance floor.

“Only if you call me Roy,” he says, standing with his feet shoulder width apart, and pulling Ed until their bodies are pressed together. Ed can feel his own face heating up at the touch, and wonders if Mustang - _ Roy _ can’t feel his heart beating like it’s trying to break out of his chest. 

Roy takes the first step and it’s the easiest thing in the world for Ed to follow, keeping close and keeping time. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roy,” Ed says when the music quiets for a second, meaning the words more than he’s ever meant them before, even though he’s not entirely sure why. 

“Oh,” Roy says, whispering the words straight into Ed’s ear as they start to move. “The pleasure is all mine.”


End file.
